


Your Eyes Are On Me

by Hgrade



Series: Shadowzone Reverbs [3]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Clubbing, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gen, Genocide, Grief/Mourning, Hiding Medical Issues, Medical Procedures, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Shady Backalley Medic, Temporary Bonding, Toxic Leader, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hgrade/pseuds/Hgrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel can't imagine a worse way to start a deca cycle, Jazz wants everyone to get along. War always seems to be on the horizon, no matter what anyone does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Try That Again

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let this first chapter fool you, more warnings will be added as chapters are released.

It's late. The city lights are beautiful. Jazz would love to lay some slick moves on this wonderful, glittering night. The bot crouches in the middle of some dank back ally, examining a few prints on the wall. To most 'bots the night is an average one, their time preoccupied with the nightly grind. 

Jazz bites his dente as a comm comes in. The bot finds himself standing up and loosening up his shoulders. "Gotcha big bot, sir." the conversation had be brief. Get Sentinel home, he's going in tomorrow.

Now, to Jazz's knowledge Sentinel had asked for tomorrow off. He frowns on the inside before silently hopping off the floor and onto the building above. Iacon is a very nice city, all hard edges and glimmering metal. It shouldn't be difficult to find Sentinel. Right.

Right.

Jazz smiles as he makes his way to the Elite Guard's barracks. It's kinda funny for them to all live together, sometimes annoying as the pit. There's a strict no-high grade policy going on though, so he's extra quiet while sneaking down the halls. Most of the bots rechargin are recharging because they have work tomorrow.

Something at the back of his processor tells him this would make a great horror movie, the little thing reminds him of someone. Jazz can't think of who that someone could be though. Either way, his steps are smooth in the cool lights. They're barely blue, what with how low the levels are. Numbers pass by one by one, until he reaches the correct one. 

Normally, Jazz would knock. It's only polite, but this is some official business. It's the dead of night and Sentinel hasn't been answering his coms. Hinged fingers dance at the keypad, but he doesn't touch it. The thing blinks, spits out some strange glyphs and flicks on a little green light. Before he purloins his way into the room, Jazz smiles at the door.

The main room is empty of anyone, just a sparsely decorated table and seats. Jazz does a once over, checks the cramped window and then heads to the hall. Prep block's empty, so are all of the rooms. Sentinel isn't home. 

Jazz isn't disturbed, the guy probably went out to have a nice night instead of staying at home and recharging all alone. With a little smile he slips out, not disturbing a single fiber in Sentinel's abode.

He's about to leave the building when he notices someone's still manning the front desk. "Hey there."

The bot gives him a curious look over her datapad, "Hello?" 

Said secretary's a cute little minibot that Jazz would have to get to know later. Wallflower informants are always important. "Have you seen Sentinel Prime around?"

"I think he went out drinking for the night." 

That earns a weird look from Jazz, "You sure about that?"

"Uh, he told me before he left that I should take any calls of his …" she rubs at one of her antennae.

"Does he get over fueled often?"

"No, no." oh she's a bad liar as well Jazz thinks.

His steps are soft, and nearly soundless. "Any idea when he'll be back, or where he's gone?"

"I don't know where, but sometimes I have to walk him in around three."

"In the morning?"

"Yes."

"Dang, well thanks for your help little 'bot"

It's a big city, Jazz finds himself prodding more sleepy workers in the dead of the night. No sign of Sentinel at any of the more popular motor houses. There's not a single indicator of where he could of gone, Jazz is in some deep slag.


	2. Distantly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drug abuse chapter.

Sentinel is usually a solo bot. His apartment has bared witness to thousands of mega-cycles alone, intoxicated and crying. Feeling strong, and being strong are two drastically different things. He can manage the façade during the cycles of his work, but tonight is a special evening. In the cool, dark room the 'bot rests his head between his knees. The high grade cubes are winding their way down his tank, polluting the once pure low-grade. Sniffling echoes in the quiet, caused by lines quivering deep in his chest. 

Midway through his sixth cube, his comm goes off. The bot straightens in his seat and lifts his hand to his antenna. Whoever it is, they're experiencing interference from his apartment block. "What is it?"

"Hey big bot, do you plan on showing up?"

Groaning, Sentinel finds himself interrogated by the new drill instructor. Eventually the egging even gets him out of his home. The bot's a weird one, white and red but not a medic. The bar is out of the way, alien and full of sleazy looking mechs and deviously welded femmes. Maybe part of him likes the look, he won't admit if he does. The two of them begin a slow crawl of oil houses and refuel stations. 

Normally, he wouldn't mind the attention. Sentinel won't lie to himself when it comes to having eyes all over his chassis. It's a matter of national pride, prime pride. Obviously they want into his paneling. They're burning holes into his panels with the intensity of their stare. The bot laughs at himself mostly, not minding the slew of other bodies in the packed club. Bots tend to go for bars, not places like this. Polluted air fills his vents with every intake. The colors are neon and pitch black darkness across every inch of space. Before all of this, he would of found the sensation of eyes glued to his chassy to be disturbing. Sober Sentinel would still be foolish, but not to this level.

Oil has drippled down his faceplate and chin, occasionally another bot will sweep by and try to reach it. If Sentinel Prime was sober, he wouldn't be here. If Sentinel Prime didn't come into the club intoxicated by high grade and dragged along by some work buddies, he wouldn't of been so easily dragged onto the dancefloor. The vast majority of bots on the floor aren't dancing at all, the blue officer doesn't notice. Crowded together like cryofish in a tiny rust brook, the bots have melded together. Hip to servo, servo to aft or worse. The floor is sticky and crunchy with dropped snacks.

Metal grates on metal as a couple gets too close, and he is jarred into a memory of him and Elita rolling around behind one of the barracks when they were in the Academy. Sentinel almost bumps into a larger bot- he makes out the smooth bright blue of someone he doesn't know and offers them a wobbly grin. 

It's just another night. Through some miracle, the bot gets tossed out before sunrise. 

The alleyway is narrow, and it tips on one side as he begins to lean against it. Walls run upwards in brilliant peels of red and lime green. Sentinel's optics are working but his processor cannot interpret anything right. His struts groan as he finally gives up and falls into a delightful pile on the floor. One by one his feeds go off, first his sight, then his sense of touch, nodes going quiet as the failsafe executes itself and makes him recharge.

Processes restart, one by one. Sentinel opens his visual feed telling him it's nearly first light, he stands and his hydraulics kish with vapor. Immediately his tank begins to cramp and revolt over whatever junk he's been taking. Sentinel simply denies the request for a purge and begins his wobbly journey home.


	3. Strange Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinel's got a bad feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sober chapter.
> 
> I've immediately written this following the posting of Chapter 2, the quality may suffer.

Sentinel's been finding quitting cold turkey hard, he feels the itch in his fuel lines even when he's at work. Being a drill sergeant is getting harder and harder when the entire day is spent denying pings for the chemical additives. It wouldn't do for any of the little maggots to find him lusting after a booster or- he dares not even think of the "s" drug. One deca-cycle, only one since his last big binge. 

He focuses again on the task at hand, sorting through the big pile of data pads. He wants to shiver, even though it's just his office. Dud, dud, dud, another dud, and then a bot that looks like he might actually be ready for combat. Sentinel turns his head as he looks over the applicant. A big, thick bot with green and gunmetal armor. The pile of acceptable bots grows, mostly the heavier frames at first. Biased, first picks for who he wants down in the bunkers for training.

No femmes this time, not a single one. The yellow guy reminds him of Elita, just a little. She'd always loved that gold color, maybe that's why she even gave him a second look when the first met. Sentinel sets down a datapad with a soft click. Both elbows on his desk, he cups his hands together before pressing them against his faceplate. Readout says his hands are cold, even as it tells him the temperature is increasing he can't find it in himself to care. Elita, Elita would have been 1500 this year. Why did they leave her, she could of lived for millions more. A painful throb fills his chest for just a moment, tracing up along the unseen seam of his spark chamber.

In, out, and air gets gulped down to cool the heating metal. Sentinel groans sharply as his spark shudders in its casing. The readout says he's under distress and all he can think is no shit you fragging idiot. 

A few cycles later and he's at work again, harder this time. He sorts through the big pile of data pads and begins to arrange them in squads. While it's not protocol, Sentinel makes careful notes as he begins to dole them out. One heavy frame, one attack frame, one seeker, one heavy frame, one attack frame, one seeker it repeats in his mind, over and over again. Soothing, the code fits into that familiar slot. A cog, a damn fine cog that should be Magnus someday.

Nobody wants a druggie cog, or a cog that got his soon-to-be sparkmate killed by some filthy organic scum. Thank the Allspark there's going to be enough time between now and the next checkup for all of the evidence to be removed. 

Sentinel's got a nice, quiet medic who doesn't ask questions. Their meeting is a deca-cycle before the official military tune up, before he gets the next batch of recruits. Oil change, line flush, cleaning out the grease, and doing a tune up on his processer will take all the evidence away. Sentinel files his suggestions for their recruits to the information branch's secretary and a copy to his superior as well.

With work over, the hour drawing into late afternoon Sentinel clocks out. He sets his office line to ping his comms so he can answer whoever wants a call through one of those instead. Pausing, he gets a look at the little room. Getting in is just a pain, his shoulders are too wide to enter comfortably. Windowless, piled up with datapads and filing cabinets. Click, and the door locks. Meeting in less than a mega-cycle, he can make it though.

The trip has grown familiar, with how many times he's taken it. Bots he doesn't know and won't remember him are always a comfort to him. Something nags him, as if he's been followed. Nobody should be following him right now, he's really unimportant. The paranoid side of the bot makes him double back and go through heavy traffic to try and shake off the feeling. 

No scolding, only the patient, deadpan look of his medic. 

Touch, caring, but sanitized from the lack of emotion reaches into the correct ports, screws in the lines. It doesn't hurt to have the gunky energon mix pumped out of his system. Fresh lowgrade then flushes through his tank, then is siphoned as well. He gets a half tank of medical grade to help sort him out. Hydraulics come next, the once clear water seeping out in an oily rainbow of suspect colors. Now the certainly don't look happy with Sentinel, and chide him about keeping his lines clean and checking for leaks. The process of finding the leak takes a while, but it's found and patched.

Then comes the invasive part, when the second medical port gets accessed. They tell him to lay back and relax. Sentinel can't when there's someone inside of him, deep inside that's poking at files and codes and his well sorted collection of encrypted data. Fingers dig into the medical berth until the sedative is applied.

In the darkness Sentinel's optics flicker off, leaving the room with all the less light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs after Chapter 2 chronologically, but before Chapter 1.


	4. Let's Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz locates Sentinel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual assault and lots of grimy elements.  
> Rating increased to Explicit. Please check the new tags.

Jazz doesn't realize what luck he's had until a mega-cycle has passed. By that time he's been drinking, not drinking at the same time to convince the doped up bots that he's as out of it as they are. It's interesting to see just how many seedy bars are on the surface of their planet, hidden under underpasses and places where the floors are cheap and oily.

Cyberninjas aren't a familiar sight in these districts, even when they're not hiding in plain sight. Jazz has passed through his thirteenth doorway when he spots a dingy alleyway entrance being opened into a blinding, dark club. The walls are just as graffiti covered as any other on this street, there's a block of shabby apartments and tech stations to either side. The floor is covered in plastic and metal shavings, he thinks there's even some dried old energon there too. White painted metal stands out really well in the shadows. Jazz knocks once and gets let in because he's so slaggin handsome. 

Praise Primus for small miracles. The noise inside is overwhelming to the audios, Jazz has to set his to nearly silent just to function. Bots are servo-to-servo in the blacklight, all neon colors and washed out whites. He keeps his head down, tries to not step on any mini-bots that are clustered so close together that they're swapping paint at contact. 

Within half a megacycle he's disoriented from the overlap of EM fields. Jazz really wants to leave, but something nags at his processor whenever he even moves towards the thought. The bartender isn't very talkative, but one of the grumbly too-big bots at the bar tell him that an elite guard bot came in earlier. Through some needling he gets the access codes to the club's back VIP rooms. 

What counts for VIP doesn't hit Jazz until he's opened the first door. Bots are laying across every surface of the exhaust and vapor coated atmosphere. It looks like they're all dead, for a frightening moment Jazz is dragged into the subtle hell of their ransacked dojo. He gets his head back on though, alert beeping to let him know what kind of memories he was about to access. Strung out, all of them. His faceplate cringes, then he shuts the door.

Next, next, next doors lead to similar things. Though there's a lot of fragging going on in one of them, the cyberninja thinks he might of just seen a senator doing inappropriate things with about ten tractor types. Second to the last chamber and he's greeted by an orgy he doesn't want to be involved with. This has to be illegal, very illegal. 

He's thinking it when he's staring down at Sentinel's vacant looking faceplate. The door clicks shut before anyone notices their new company. Jazz zooms out of the quadrant in his view and steps carefully through the hurdles of bot on bot, drain in the floor speaking for vorns. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, goes his digits. Jazz stops for a moment. Sentinel's optics flicker back on, Jazz lets out a sigh of relief. The blue bot probably can't feel anything, he looks like some of his plating's got stress-cracks from the weight of his partner. Soft murmuring to the red and silver bot, whose optics betray what kind of poison he's ingested. Thighs are sincerely cold from the lack of metal pressed against them, air washing over in a blissful sigh. 

Sentinel's servos have sunken deeply into that makeshift berth, bent slightly from wiggling in place. The scratches over the edge of the table and energon dripping out of his valve sing a siren song of the past. Jazz feels his intake want to shiver and crawl into a grimace. One by one he pulls out Sentinel's fingers from the table, the blue bot's oddly quiet. Sentinel's valve lets out a gush of old transfluid, nanobots and lubricants onto the table when he's propped up into a sitting position. His face doesn't say shame, it doesn't say anything. There's odd lines across the surface of his neck cabling, and the ports on his arm are still open and covered in a rainbow of unfamiliar chips.

"What have you done to yourself, man?" Jazz's voice emerges so softly that Sentinel can't hear him. The cyberninja pulls out a cloth and with clinical precision begins to wipe down Sentinel's everything. There's bits of energon leaking from several of the cracks in his armor. Methodically he gets everything done, picking out the chips that had been jammed and bent to fit into those ports. 

The black and white bot then makes a secure line, carefully shielding his own core consciousness from the false medical line he makes. As soon has he plugs in he can see the immediate damage. Emotional shell offline, optics and peripheral organs reduced in favor of enhanced tactile node input. The code had made an outside install of hell and feedback, the nodes constantly sending instructions to it. Jazz isn't the best programmer, but he manages to shut off the floating lines with jury-rigging. 

He helps Sentinel off of the table and onto his pedes. "Are you alright?" Sentinel's vacant stare answers nothing. Still plugged in, he pings for each of Sentinel's panels. They reply and he asks them politely to shut, Sentinel's at least got them set to shut by default. The black and white bot unplugs himself from Sentinel, the lack of Sentinel's presence hits him in an odd way. Jazz discovers that tugging on Sentinel's servo gets him moving. It's easy to lead the bot out of the room and out of the club.

Mechanical, empty, the streets greet them. The night swallows up all of the light from their glittering planet. They're getting close to headquarters just shy of 03:00. With no help of Sentinel's drunken wobbling, or dripping, or tearful complaints at the sharp charge that bursts from the rouge code still in his processor. 

"Where's almost there, just hang in there a little longer." he says it when Sentinel sobs suddenly, clutching one drooping antenna. Jazz doesn't think that Sentinel should go right back on the job after a night like this, he won't judge how it happened. The blue bot's usually such a stickler, he wouldn't of guessed that so many illegal things could run on someone's frame without killing them. 

The bot takes them in the back way, then to the medical wing. There's several full-time bots on staff just for fuckups like this. Jazz has to sit down in the common room, making idle chat with that one contact of his that's still up at 04:00 on a weekend at home instead of out.

Nightmares are made of the type of code fixing he has to do. The damage is all superficial. The medic flushes out Sentinel's valve and then applies a numbing program that shuts off all nodes in his interface array. Scuff marks are filled out, patched and sealed over and over again. It's a good thing there's still two medical assistants on hand.

The ninja rises when the medical bot finally comes out of the office, "Sir?"

"Sentinel Prime has been patched up." there's a heavy pause, "He's ready for duty, but do not push him too hard. The fractures will take a few cycles to fully heal. He should make a full recovery."

Mentally, Jazz lets out a frustrated cry of slag. "You're aware of …"

"Yes. Ultra Magnus will receive a full copy of the medical report." the bot doesn't say anything about the sexual assault, or having to replace half of Sentinel's ports and other wiring. The weight of the kit he had to do settles uneasily in his mind. Jazz has been sitting out there for hours, and Jazz has always been such a kind, considerate bot. The medic really wishes he could say more, or fix Sentinel further. They have no more time. "He's up, and you need to report to Steelhaven." 

Shocked, Jazz's optics bulge as he looks from the minibot medic to the door he came out of. Sentinel's already up and active, they need to go. A mission so severe and urgent that they've overridden the personal health of one of their most xenophobic and important military members. Unease fills his EM field for a nanoklik, then he rolls it back in. "Yes sir." he steps forward anxiously "Can you take me to Sentinel first? I can walk him out right?"

"Of course." the bot nods solemnly, if only the minibot was privy to Sentinel's private med bot's existence.

The stray bot was a wonderful medic, a specialist in repairing rouge partybots from rough weekends and fixing up the bingers that went too far every deca-cycle. He sits in his office and wonders why Sentinel hasn't contacted him yet, he has this date written into his calendar. The med bot even has the appointment reserved for Sentinel, it's an important anniversary. The bot uses his new spare time to read over the news feeds, wondering if he should get a different patient in.


	5. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds the Autobots must succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action-filled chapter, and death.

Sentinel's medic finds himself disappointed with being stood up. He cheers up when one of the regular fuckups contacts him, and brings along about five friends. Making rent doesn't seem like a very big problem anymore.

His servos won't hold still, no matter what he's in the middle of saying to Ultra. The cyberninja's got the itch in his frame to wring their patient leader's neck. Ultra has yet to say why he's decided to take both Jazz and Sentinel with him. Jazz has so much self-control.

Ultra Magnus has yet to share the source of his irritation with his underlings, the atmosphere has grown tense aboard the Steelhaven. Bots are darting in and out, resupplying the massive amount of energon needed to power it. Jazz finds his nerves beginning to fray, Sentinel hasn't spoken. Earlier he'd grunted in greeting, but now the silence gnaws at the ninja's spark. Why can't Ultra see that something is very, very wrong with his second in command.

Because Jazz isn't a mind reader he doesn't know that Ultra is quite aware of the situation. The blue and white bot even skimmed over the medical report, which was enough to tell him they should have given Sentinel a day off. The Magnus has so much to worry about than just a single bot, so much more. Ultra stopped looking young after his first solar cycle in office, starting a war with half the population of one's homeworld does that to a bot.

"Come with me, Jazz." the leader of the Autobots remains safely within the radius of their docking bay. He leads them under the awing and looks to his third. "This is your briefing." what happened to the intelligence officer that was in charge of that, wonders the ninja. "We are on an urgent mission to Talos V."

"We're on neutral terms with them, right boss?"

"Yes, we were. As of yesterday evening we've received communications indication they want to be annexed to the Autobot Commonwealth."

"Really sir?" the surprise comes nude.

"There's several diplomats accompanying us," he turns to Jazz, mouth turning into a thin line. "they've been hit by several Decepticon attacks within the last few cycles. If any more occur we'll need to be there to protect them." he eyes Sentinel over Jazz's shoulder. "They're expecting us" Sentinel's injuries look like they're gone "all of us. You're my top soldiers. I'm not expecting it to happen fast."

"Hopefully the 'cons won't bother us." the black and white bot turns to look at Sentinel. "Sentinel?" it comes out too soft, just hinting at the sudden stab of guilt he felt just from looking at the bot. If he'd just left Sentinel at home instead of taking him to the office, he wouldn't be here.

"Don't worry Jazz, we're taking a quarter of the fleet. The Decepticons have no idea that we're on our way so quickly." the Magus steps towards Sentinel, expression not changing at all. It looks unnatural to Jazz. They close the distance between themselves and the nearly catatonic bot within a click, "Sentinel won't have to move from his quarters. It's but a diplomatic request that we're all going." there's something soft in his eyes, he lingers. "This will be fast, easy even if it goes correctly." and he does need to be right. Without the support of a space bridge and a large force at hand, they'll be fragged.

It feels like the older bot has moved too close, Jazz coughs. "Sir, I'll help them finish loading then."

"Very well. I'll keep an eye on Sentinel, make sure he doesn't go anywhere." the Magnus chuckles lightly. Big fat fragging slag.

Sentinel hasn't moved from his seat in half a megacycle. Nobody's expecting anything from the blue bot, and something about that makes the reality of this mission feel worse to Jazz. Sentinel doesn't move within the megacycle after that one either, and preparations are in full swing by then.

Ultra Magnus had left Sentinel's medical report on his desk, on Cybertron. It's a megacycle into their flight and he's yet to recall it. Everyone in the fleet is on high alert, ready for the slightest indication of a Decepticon attack. They're more than a solar cycle away from the planet as well, meaning everyone gets set shifts for the cycles that will come.

Steelhaven isn't a destroyer class ship, those models are long gone with the loss of the entire Decepticon factory facility line. They're full up though, twelve bots on hand. Their tanks are filled with liquid energon, solid cubes are also in great supply. Jazz would know about the exact amount of energon in there too, he'd finished their storage after all. Two whole solar cycles, then they'll be at Talos IV. Jazz thinks he should have a talk with Sentinel, before things get any worse.

Nothing could make Sentinel hate Jazz even more in that moment. Jazz was slagging around at him. _No, not the friendly, disarming smile, you can talk to me pal! No way I'm going to say anything to a bot like you! No, it's a lie._ That thought stays firm. Sentinel thinks very hard at his wall, things are getting awkward. He honestly wanted to drink his woes away yesterday but apparently that was now illegal. Plating itches, because his circuits are pinging for strange lines of code and odd mixes that he's never known. Sentinel can't blame himself, so he blames everyone else. Who was at the oil house with him again? A bunch of losers who'll be wiping space bridges down for the next millennia. Spite bubbles in his tank. 

Turmoil rouses him from his cramped desk, he paces around the tiny room. These quarters, they're big enough to hold the bulkiest of bots but not large enough to be comforting to anyone. Earlier, earlier what had he done. Nothing, exactly that. He'd accomplished nothing following his frag-up. Exposure, that's what he's the most fearful of. Sentinel had been witnessed by Jazz, that had been the worst. His sedative program has begun to wear off, not entirely gone yet. 

Pain radiates familiarly through his groin, the mesh badly insulted around his hips has been painted over. Paint doesn't repair torn mesh, nor does it settle the paranoia that comes. Sitting hurts, standing hurts, it's going to hurt a lot more when the program's completely gone. Nodes are waking up again, his valve feels like someone crushed his pelvis around it. Paranoia has flooded his processor.

Vector Sigma bots are supposedly more volatile, angrier, less full than any before them. No contact with the Allspark- a direct line to the creator Primus himself, was a frequent subject of outrage to the religious community on Cybertron. Sentinel believes if he's going to be an insult to all of creation, he better be a good one. The bot thinks Jazz must know about his undisclosed Sigma origin, he finally turns to his guest.

Vocalization comes out soft, wounded "Listen man, you can't do that again." such kind words! _As if Sentinel had intentionally gotten so fragged up he could barely initiate his reboot sequence._ He was fine, he could of dealt with it on his own. Jazz thinks of more to say, but the way Sentinel's eyes narrow tell him he can't convince the mech of anything.

"Again, it's none of your business. Solider. Who asked you to plug into my" he hits the wall, "processing" he hits it again, "unit." This is the third time they're having this conversation. Neither the wall nor his arm give, he's had his reinforced after that incident with some flunkies.

Of course, he's pissed. "It was all I could do Sentinel. I did what I thought was best." the violent action doesn't faze the space ninja, Sentinel wouldn't dare to hurt his lower ranking _superior_.

"Yeah, it would have been better if you'd left me there." Sentinel depresses the lock and looks from Jazz to it.

Jazz says it to his chest plate, unwilling to leave. "You've told me." Sentinel sounds supremely fragged up, Jazz knows he's just caught in the crossfire. He's seen good bots, better bots than himself overcharge themselves to death. Fried out their own sparks with the amount of fuel intake, or overflowed energon enough to set their shells aflame from the inside out. "If I didn't you wouldn't be here." Obeying your orders. Jazz only came to suggest talking to the psyche again, getting some help to quell whatever's tainted Sentinel's spark. It's abundantly clear that the second in command wouldn't be seeing anyone about anything. 

Sentinel sincerely wishes he had died instead of ended up on this Primus forsaken chunk of metal being scolded by Jazz. This mission is pointless. A single day isn't going to cure him, it's not going to fix what's not broken. The blue bot believes he's perfectly fine, he doesn't need any help. The pain block and recovery program have only been nuisances. All the aches and bruises will return soon, but Sentinel can handle it. The psychological damage dealt was a more pressing issue, but the unfortunate bot had been formatted with a brutally tough ego. 

Jazz had witnessed something he shouldn't of, he'd seen Sentinel bare, torn and bruised. It was a violation of everything Sentinel wants, he would of crawled into that berth and not risen if it could of kept the other officer from knowing. Anything to keep them quiet and have them leave him alone. After this mission it'll be dealt with. Once they're on Cybertron Jazz is going to keep squealing until something's done. Sentinel clenches the hand at his side, watching the other bot slink away. There's nothing he can do about that.

Yet peace washes over his frame as soon as Jazz disappears. His legs quiver as he presses the door shut, telling it to open for no-bot. The blue officer suddenly feels very tired, shiver running through every plate on his body. The berth sits accusingly at him. Optics would burn holes in the offending object if he could, so he sits down on the floor across from it. Sentinel tries to think of calming things, like passing legislation preventing cyberninjas from leaving Iacon without being tacked. Jazz finds the recharge mode autoreply to his next message a calming sight.

Talos V is a small planet, not the proper capital. It's neutral ground, towards Decepticon space. Most of the bots are in a cheerful mood, and they are from the guild Domesticus. Those on the military roster are grim, they know deep in their sparks an attack will come. Diplomats go to the ground, including the Magnus. Sentinel sits in Steelhaven and keeps watch from afar, quiet. The planet is covered in sandy planes, heavily rich in iron and mercury. Half the crew have descended to the planet's surface to guard their Magus.

The discussion goes well, the Talos natives are extremely desperate to find help. Their previous alliances have crumbled as their communication networks have begun to fall. No doubt, it's a Decepticon power grab. The neutral plants have always offered a buffer between Autobot space and Decepticon war. If the situation wasn't so serious, Ultra would of sounded amused at how fast they've drawn up the agreement. The council has already agreed to it, it's a matter of transmitting all of the data to both sides. They even believe that their forces might be capable of getting out unscathed when the entire planet loses power.

Sentinel only notices because the comms are suddenly quiet. The screens which had been a-buzz have flat lined into fuzzy grays and slate. Immediately the other ships are speaking to one another, messages humming in barely restrained distress. The dark side of the planet no longer has the glittering lights of cities on it. Only the still burning forges show the barest hints of red, molten metal. Nothing's coming in from the planet anymore, they begin to plan out who's going to get who on the surface when it hits.

A bomb, a massive streak careening planeside. For a moment, the dark side of the planet is partially lit. The amount of heat and light dazzles Sentinel's processor. Simmering iron planes, orange and red are evaporated into a gigantic black crater at the contact point. Nothing so breathtaking has ever been witnessed by Sentinel. His spark hammers deep inside his chest, spreading in fear and humming erratically. He leans forward towards the screen until his faceplate almost touches it. The aftershock makes the ships nearest that plane quake in orbit, more messages, so many they would of choked up the connection if they only had their original numbers. Servos do not tremble as he calls up the remaining bots on board the ship. 

They only came to Talos V instead of Talos IV because the burning wreckage was still warm and emitting harmful radiation over half the planet. Volley after volley of smaller bombs are hitting the V now, getting closer and closer to their capital. Sentinel's fingers are digging into his chair, his back fitting nicely into the curve as a few stray shots hit hard. The Steelhaven shakes violently, it's a swarm of Decepticon ships. 

Sentinel orders all of them to the cannons and guns. The remaining bots and himself are going to have to take evasive maneuvers. He's typing away at the comm, urging the Steelhaven to dip down. The bomb had hit a nearby city, but not the capital itself. The smaller ships are going in to retrieve survivors from the wreckage. Another set of bigger ships go to collect what's left of the small governing body down there. Steelhaven has to provide cover.

While it's a necessity he feels himself balk at the mere thought- it's intimate. The request comes from Jazz's line, and Ultra's at almost the same moment. Hooking into anybot's system directly feels immoral. They must, though. The connection crawls out of his arm even as he thinks how it's not cheating if your trying to save a planet that's on the verge of being purged, to save your Magus and many other lives. It's not a real bond unless you can completely feel each other through it, but Sentinel had never gotten the backlash from her death. The medics said he couldn't feel it because they had never cemented it all the way. What a wonderful failure he is. Sentinel's smiling, but only because his thoughts have turned quickly to the wrong line of grim thoughts. 

The metal piece of the connecting cable meets the female part of the port and at once he can feel the spark in there, thrumming gently against his mind. Steelhaven feels alive, alive and dreaming so faintly he can barely sense the alien mind push against his own. At the same moment, he feels utterly violated. The sensation washes away as he focuses on his new field of view. Hope blooms in all of them. The other two bots are in there as well, sparks humming as they merge with the massive ship. Someone who isn't on the ship itself sends them a reassuring feeling, warm, blanketing and the steady, strong pull of a truly solid bond. Ultra's alive, they're more than their singular selves. Cool relief hits the second in command, he smiles even though all of their optics are dimmed. Sentinel begins to push the Steelhaven into motion, drawing the Decepticons towards the less populated side of the planet.

Though the blue bot's not the best pilot on Cybertron, or even in the Talos system, he makes up for all of his faults with the sheer desperate urgency he flies with. His optics never leave the screen, nor does he disconnect from the link keeping the weapons system tied to his mind. The idiot 'cons have to think that their Magnus is in the ship, that's the only reason there's more than one of them on his tailpipe. He gives them all they can handle, all that Steelhaven can manage. They zip across the moons of Talos V before slipping towards IV and then back again, shots skimming over the reinforced plating. 

Time blurs, he feels like he's been flying for vorns. Everything has singled down to the loops that tempt the 'cons into getting into his firing range and running all at once. Another ship explodes, but from within comes the Decepticons themselves. They buzz and can't quite reach the Autobot craft.

Being cocky on the battlefield never ended well for anyone, he's not the exception either. The thruster's blade gets shot in by a stray bolt that had been aiming for the cannon set far above and to the right of the thruster. The metal loosens and then goes flying deep into the engine of the wing, the Steelhaven hiccups. They begin to lose altitude, plunging down to the surface. Decepticons forces are thinned to breaking, they can handle going for him.

The ship seems to pilot itself, drawn towards Ultra's spark. Steelhaven hums from within, stray thoughts only fueled by the excess amount of processor power supplied to him. Sentinel isn't sure what ideas belong to his circuits, and what has come from the other sparks. They're so engrossed that the landing feels like he's stepped down onto the surface with his own two pedes. 

Even with the smoldering ruins around them, the congress of Autobots and aliens are glimmering and clean. Ever thankful for the existence of underground bunkers, Jazz leads the way. The guard bots are eager to return to Steelhaven, while the alien diplomats are a little uncomfortable. The black and white elite guard doesn't blame them.

Jazz finds the sight of so many jacked-in bots ultra-creepy. The Magnus and the leaders of Talos finish boarding the ship, the plugged in crew stiff in their seats. One of the other officers warn the aliens to absolutely not interfere with the three laced in bots. Plating has been pushed aside on most of their arms and legs, allowing for further access by their ship. These cords are unfamiliar, he hasn't seen this happen in millennia. 

Heat hums over Sentinel's form, Jazz watches Ultra take his seat at the command center. Soft, that's the best word for his optics. Ultra looks like he might break into tears. They take off into the air and quickly get past the planet's ozone layer. 

Distance, too much of it needs to be made. They aren't close enough for reinforcements, they aren't fast enough to escape. Even in their best ship they don't outrun the second wave of Decepticons. The other wing is badly damaged. Steelhaven's hull shakes when they land on the roof. Metal rings as they start to tear through the hull with lasers and other equipment. Jazz wants to rip out his audio receptors when all three of the plugged-in bots scream in unholy unison. The cannon charges and shoots the biggest 'con off. 

"Sir, you need to go." he doesn't have to say it out loud. The diplomats are all shoved into their small number of escape pods. The pods are faster than the ship itself, and hopefully that can keep them out of Decepticon servos. Ultra looks tiny when he's pushed into a pod, diminished. "Don't worry, we'll get you home safe. Boss, keep holding on." oh he will need to.

Ultra needs to hang onto the handles, the ruler of Talos V rubbing shoulders with him in the pod. The Magus keeps watching the feed from Steelhaven. Jazz fighting the 'cons that have gotten in, hull breach. Hands, so many dark hands. The blue and black bot can imagine Sentinel and the other bots being forced out of the seats when Steelhaven's lights go off. Feed dead, he's left to mourn in the tiny, cramped space. At least they have new allies, an entire solar system really.

 

"A deca cycle has passed since the battle on Talos V. It came with great loss of life, our sparks reach out to theirs. May the bots of Talos and the Autobot Commonwealth forever seek peace, and give these lost sparks rest in the eternal well." Optimus pauses for a moment, the hardened grief in the crowd tangible in their tangled EM fields. "I would like to take a moment to speak of a bot I knew personally, who was lost in battle." he takes in some air, "Sentinel Prime was a good bot, he was most loyal Autobot I have ever known." the guilt hits his spark then, and the pain quivers into his own field. Prowl's optics stray to Optimus as his voice breaks, "We had our differences, but he will always occupy a place in my spark, and in the sparks of those that knew him. He was an example of a model officer, and he will be missed. May he be at peace. We will all rest with all that have been, Decepticon, Autobot, Talosian, and all other beings in the well. I hope we can move forward and stop this war that has cost so many sparks."


End file.
